


(love is) the cherry on top

by kangeiko



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18455543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: Odo is perfectly capable of investigating Quark on his own, shapeshifting abilities or no.





	(love is) the cherry on top

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoreyG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/gifts).



> A million thanks to phnelt for the amazing beta!

The problem was, ever since Odo had become stuck as a solid, investigating Quark had become ten times harder. It was a lot more complicated to find out what the acquisitive little sneak was smuggling when Odo couldn’t simply turn into a Tarkelian rat and snoop in his stores. It wasn’t the most important thing Odo missed, or the most frustrating way his new existence seemed designed to stymie him, but, still. There was nothing especially interesting or fun about being a Tarkelian rat, nothing that would have made him think fondly of it otherwise, but the fact that he no longer had that option open to him made him — 

“Odo? What are you doing here?” Quark stared down at him from the top of the store-room stairs, his brow ridges drawn together in confusion. “Are you… hiding?”

Odo refused to dignify that with an answer, climbing to his feet slowly and wincing a little as his knees creaked. He _definitely_ missed having limbs that didn’t make strange noises or ache at odd times. Damned things. He was coming to feel a strange kinship with Chief O’Brien, who frequently complained about the state of his joints as if — Dr Bashir had commented — he was a hundred years old.

Odo, who’d never especially had much cause to wonder what the key differences were between humans at one hundred and humans at Chief O’Brien’s age, now found himself wondering what other minor inconveniences awaited him. His older deputies, for instance, complained about dry skin and tired eyes for some reason. Were those small tortures also in his future?

He had been forced into this shape permanently a little over six weeks ago, and had found himself hating everything about it. Quite apart from the physical discomfort that had made itself apparent almost immediately, he’d originally thought that — whatever else the restriction would mean for his life and his sense of identity, the one thing that would be minimally impacted would be his ability to carry out his job. It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated the abilities he had used on a daily basis of course, but he had always reminded himself that his deputies coped just fine without them — and that _they_ didn’t need to regenerate on a rigid schedule. Maybe, he’d thought, in amidst all the horror of finding his body so thoroughly changed and violated, there was the thinnest sliver of a silver lining.

That cold comfort had worn thin within a week. Over the last month Odo had found himself forced to hand to his deputies three cargo inspections, four interrogations, eight arrest and two pursuits. Partly this had been in response to Dr Bashir patching him up after he’d been injured breaking up a brawl at Quark’s, and telling him in no uncertain terms that he needed to learn the limits and functions of his new body before he seriously injured himself. Partly, if he was being frank with himself, it had been as a result of him chasing after a suspect a week later and unthinkingly jumping down from the walkway of the Promenade in pursuit. He hadn’t actually been intending to shapeshift that time — having remember _that_ part — just to prevent his quarry from getting away. That jump, it transpired, had evidently been one of his body’s aforementioned limits and he’d spent two uncomfortable days in the Infirmary having his kneecaps and ankles repaired. The lecture Dr Bashir had insisted on delivering — which had greatly resembled a protracted ‘I told you so’ — had possibly been the worst part of the whole experience.

So, faced with the stark reality that even that threadbare silver lining was tarnished irreparably, he’d compromised. He’d experimented. Prophets help him, he’d _delegated_.

But there were limits to his limits, and apparently those limits looked like Quark returning from a trip to Risa looking incredibly smug and secretive. The squirrelly little thief hadn’t even bothered to come up with a good cover story; he’d simply turned up with a hold full of some sort of little red fruit and strange statues and insisted — ha! — that his purchases were all above board.

Odo had let the matter lie for exactly two days before he’d finally acknowledged to himself that he wasn’t going to get any work done until he’d found out exactly what Quark was up to. He’d briefly considered bringing back-up, but, well. It was _Quark._ If he couldn’t handle Quark by himself then he might as well resign and be done with it.

There were several storage rooms located conveniently adjacent to, or just below, the bar. Quark, of course, also had a couple that were tucked away in other parts of the station and rented — in theory — to hold shipments intended for onward transport. The entire contents of the transport’s hold had been carefully deposited in the storage room the previous night, with a stated departure date two days from now.

Really, Odo had had no other choice; if he’d left it much longer, the entire shipment would have been moved outside of his jurisdiction.

“Quark.” He dusted himself off. “I was inspecting your stores.” It was, he thought, a statement of intent, _not_ an explanation. He owed Quark nothing like _that_.

“Right. On your hands and knees. A close inspection, was it? Checking the quality of my storage containers?”

He’d actually been checking for secret compartments and false bottoms, but it was pretty close as far as guesses went.

“I wouldn’t have to do that if you’d filed a full manifest,” Odo said waspishly.

“I did file a full manifest.” Quark made his way down the metal stairway, his lips pursed. “It’s not my fault you don’t believe me.”

“That’s because your manifests are works of fiction comparable to the most elaborate Cardassian epic: long-winded and full of holes.” He gestured towards the nearest container. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that you are importing _fruit_?” Fruit that was apparently atmosphere-sensitive, according to the manifest, and therefore preserved in an preservative syrup. _Della_ fruit was sensitive to oxygen - once it ripened, it would spoil quickly and so it was usually transported in protective syrup. It was an utterly inoffensive snack, by all accounts pleasant but not overwhelming as a mild aphrodisiac and relaxant, and impossible to grow anywhere not on Risa. Something to do - again - with the atmospheric mix.

The only restricted activity you could indulge in with _della_ fruit would be to brew spirits out it, but the shipment wasn’t anywhere nearly large enough for that. Quark would be lucky to get a bottle out of the entire lot. Odo also had a hard time believing that Quark would have the patience for the brewing process, which was by all accounts incredibly tedious. True, you’d end up with a drink that was both incredibly potent and also possessing all the aphrodisiac qualities of the fruit multiplied a hundredfold, but it was highly unlikely that Quark was going to all this trouble to make a single bottle of _anything_.

Odo had half a mind to confiscate the whole lot of it and stick it in quarantine, on the logic that there was absolutely no way Quark would have passed up the opportunity not to smuggle in illicit goods under the cover of ‘air-tight atmospheric containers’.

Quark was starting to frown. “Well, you should, because it’s true. There’s no point trying to smuggle anything to Risa, they hardly have any laws anyway. And the bits that _are_ illegal I wouldn’t go near anyway. Guns, poisons, that sort of thing. No, Odo, I’m afraid you’re wrong yet again. My cargo is _della_ fruit, which is plenty profitable all by itself and not in the least bit restricted.” He got to the bottom of the stairs and stepped close, folding his arms across his chest. “And this is private property. You don’t have a warrant, _Constable_.”

This — while strictly speaking true — was not in the least bit relevant. It did however have the effect of making what little remained of Odo’s temper fray at the edges. There was only so much he could find out by inspecting the containers without opening them, and he couldn’t do that without Quark finding out he’d been in the store room. But with Quark here…

“Your protests would be a lot more convincing if you didn’t have a history of smuggling, Quark,” he sneered, and flipped open the control panel of the nearest container. “Open it.”

Quark’s eyes widened. “No! It’ll ruin the fruit!”

Odo was now almost certain there was no fruit at all. “Fine. Then I’ll do it.” He flipped open the cover for the unlocking mechanism.

“You can’t do that without a warrant,” Quark said, but it came out uncertain. “And anyway, _della_ fruit requires strict atmos —   _Odo_!”

Odo had really had quite enough of everything by this point. Enough of having bits of this new body ache, enough of having to hand over simple investigations because _you have to understand your new limits, Odo_ , enough of Quark flaunting his new limitations in his face. If he’d still had his abilities, he could have looked into the containers without having to go through this song and dance. As it was, the chance that he was wrong about this — given that it was _Quark —_  was so infinitesimal that he felt he could afford it. And anyway — 

He stared down into the open container. “What’s this?”

“ _Della_ fruit,” Quark practically hissed, crowding into him. “ _Della_ fruit that you’ve just now exposed to oxygen and will be ruined within _hours_ because you —   _no_!”

It tasted innocuous enough. The preservative syrup it was in was unobjectionable as well. Odo chewed thoughtfully, almost triumphant in the face of Quark’s rage. He reached for another.

“ _Stop it_.” Definitely a hiss that time. Quark’s eyes were wide with panic. “You shouldn’t —”

“I thought you said it was _fruit_ , Quark. According to your manifest, it’s safe for consumption by most humanoids.” Was there something in the syrup, maybe? Had he dosed it with a prohibited substance? Odo’s senses were dulled in almost all respects but the one sense that did seem to be enhanced was the newly acquired _taste_. The syrup didn’t _taste_ of anything contraband. It was a little sweet, maybe, and definitely had a little heat to it. Or maybe that was the fruit?

It was actually a rather nice taste, despite the crunchiness. He reached for another.

Quark’s hand closed over his wrist. “What are you doing?” Quark demanded, practically nose to nose with Odo. “Why would you do that?”

Odo stared down at him. There was definitely a little heat to the fruit. Or maybe the syrup. It tingled pleasantly across his tongue and down his throat, and made him abruptly aware of how stuffy the storage room was. Temperature controlled, of course. Because Quark was still pretending he was just importing fruit. “You said it was just fruit, Quark. Why shouldn’t I eat it?” If he was wrong and there really was nothing contraband about this shipment, he’d pay for the fruit he’d eaten. Two pieces, maybe three. He reached for another. It really was rather good.

He was fascinated to see Quark’s face abruptly flood with color. “You, uh…” Quark suddenly seemed to realize how close he was standing and he took a hast step back. His back collided with the back of the container and he came to an abrupt stop. He was staring at Odo, his mouth open, as if something unspeakable had just happened. “It might not be suitable for your metabolism,” he managed, and his voice came out faint and unsure. “I’ll… I’ll fetch Dr Bashir.”

Odo really had no interest in spending any more time with Dr Bashir.

The heat was spreading further now, and it was the most delicious feeling he’d encountered for some time. Possibly even as far back as the Link he’d shared with the other Founder. It made parts of his body tingle, as if the temperature control was fluctuating inside him, and he was suddenly acutely aware of how objectionable the fabric of his uniform was. He hadn’t realised before he’d been changed that some textures could be pleasing and others displeasing, and he had spent a considerable amount of time working that out until he’d found what he’d thought had been a relatively innocuous fabric that wouldn’t irritate him. Maybe he’d been wrong on that front.

The palms of his hands itched. He didn’t know what to do to stop that so he settled them tentatively on Quark’s shoulders, gripping lightly. He didn’t want Quark to fetch Dr Bashir. He didn’t want Quark to _go_. He still had to figure out what Quark was smuggling, and whether there was anything wrong with the fruit.

He could feel the texture of Quark’s shirt, the way the fabric shifted over his flesh, and the hard, sharp edges of his bones beneath that. Quark was so _narrow_ , he realized suddenly. Odo could cup his shoulders easily, could press his fingertips down into the edges of his shoulder-blades, his thumbs resting on the arch of collarbone. Quark’s jacket normally hid most of that from sight, the raised collar giving the impression of a deeper, wider chest; the high waistline masquerading as a longer torso. Without it on, Quark was narrow-shouldered and vulnerable, his breath a panicked rattle in the brittle cage of his ribs.

“What are you doing?” Quark asked, his voice unnaturally high pitched. He swallowed nervously.

Odo’s eyes tracked the movement, fascinated by that the thin sliver of bared flesh just above his shirt collar.

“Odo? You’re making me nervous.”

Quark did sound nervous, Odo allowed. He could see his pulse speed up, the barest hitch catching in his breathing as Odo slid his right hand along a thin shoulder to rest on the back of Quark’s neck. His thumb came to rest — gently, naturally — along the ridge of Quark’s ear.

Quark’s breath stuttered to a halt. “Odo?” He whispered.

“It’s alright,” Odo said eventually, recognizing Quark’s panic and his own growing need to reassure him, to make the frightened note in Quark’s voice go away. He didn’t want Quark to be frightened. He didn’t want Quark to be upset. He wanted Quark _here_ , with him, and he wanted him to feel… he didn’t know the words for it. Something good, certainly. He wanted Quark’s mouth open, and he wanted Quark’s breath to hitch, and…

His voice didn’t sound like his own; it was too heavy, somehow, as if he’d been carrying far too much inside and he’d worn it out from use. “It’s alright, Quark.” His skin felt odd, too big and too small all at once, as if he had put on the wrong clothes and couldn’t make them sit right. It made him ache all over, in his belly and lower, and he was suddenly aware of the heaviness that sat between his legs, at how strangely good that fullness felt. “Quark,” he said again, helpless and confused. He couldn’t work out what he wanted, other than to have Quark here, beside him. “I — I don’t — ”

“You don’t what?” Quark asked, staring up at him. His eyes were wide, the pupils large and dark.

 _Arousal_ , Odo thought, triumphant at having recognized the evidence of it in Quark’s body. _That’s what that means_.

Was that what his own eyes were doing? He suspected as much. He still hadn’t quite worked out which bits of his body were under his control and which had a mind of their own, but he was fairly certain that arousal was one of the states he wasn’t expected to be able to control all on his own. Hadn’t Dr Bashir explained as much in that — absolutely mortifying for both of them — lecture he’d given him shortly after he’d been made solid? _Sensation and emotion are both involuntary_ , Bashir had said, the tips of his ears going bright red, and it had taken Odo far too long to understand what he’d been hinting at.

 _It’s perfectly natural,_ Dr Bashir had said, and his entire face had been flushed by that point. _You should feel free to experiment_ , but Odo _hadn’t_ felt free, not in this body. Not with parts of his own form outside his control. Not even when he felt his stomach clench and his knees shake, and when he had to grit his teeth against the sensation of fabric against his most sensitive parts. _You should feel free to experiment_ but he hadn’t and he was paying the price for that now, wasn’t he? He could barely string a sentence together, the heat inside him now almost intolerable. The throbbing between his legs was agonizing, the curious tightness across his ribs and the dryness of his mouth odd, distracting things. He couldn’t seem to draw enough breath. “Quark,” he said instead, as if that would solve everything. “I don’t… I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Quark’s lips parted, his brow furrowing. “You — ” he broke off, his eyes darting down to see — well, Odo could guess what he was looking at by the way his eyes widened and he took a step back involuntarily. “Oh.” It came out very small. “Right.”

“Quark,” he said again, almost desperate. Holding still was taking every bit of his willpower. “I think there was something in the…” he lost his train of thought, watching Quark’s throat work as he swallowed. “Something…”

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, the fullness between his legs a painful throb against his thigh. He _wanted_ , so badly it left him speechless, left him helpless to the bone-deep pleasure of it.

Quark was still within reach, still close enough to touch. Odo’s thumb stroked gently along the edge of Quark’s ear, following the gentle curve of the ridge with the edge of his nail. Quark’s eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open with a sigh. “Odo… what are you doing?” He didn’t pull away, though, Odo noted. He was arching into Odo’s touch instead, giving him better access to the sensitive inner whorls and curlicues of his ear. “Odo — oh, _oh_ , don’t stop doing that — what are you,  _oh,_  do you even know what you’re doing? Why did you eat the —   _ooooh —_ ”

“It’s alright,” Odo said helplessly, the non-answer. What was he supposed to say? _I don’t know. I don’t understand this, and I have to take all of this on trust. It’s involuntary, uncontrollable, and all I can think about is what you’d taste like._

Quark’s head was tilted, his eyes closed. Was it OK to do this? Did he have permission?

He hesitated another fraction of a second, then leaned down.

Quark’s mouth was already open. He welcomed Odo eagerly, almost mewling into his mouth as he was kissed, his hands reaching up to tangle in Odo’s uniform tunic. Quark’s fangs were needle-sharp and Odo couldn’t help exploring them curiously, contrasting them with the plushness of Quark’s lower lip and the heated dexterity of his tongue. Quark tasted strange but his smell was warm and familiar and Odo couldn’t help but press himself closer, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

“Odo,” Quark was saying, murmuring into his mouth, “wait, _wait_ , Odo, _wait — "_

 _Wait_. That meant he had to stop, he had to listen. He forced himself to stillness, every muscle quivering. It was almost painful. The fullness between his legs throbbed with every beat of his heart and he wanted — he wanted _something_ and he didn’t even know what it was, but it involved putting his lips back to Quark’s skin, his tongue back into Quark’s mouth, his hands — 

But Quark said _wait_ and so he waited, his breath coming in gulps. “What is it?” he rasped.

Quark pulled back gingerly.

Odo was dismayed to see a frown on his face. Frowns meant Quark wasn’t pleased. Frowns meant what he was doing wasn’t making Quark happy. Frowns meant — “What is it?” he asked again, more gently. “Do you want me to stop?” He wanted to put a hand to Quark’s face, to make the the frown go away by smoothing out the unfamiliar shapes of it. Quark’s mouth wasn’t made to frown. The lines on his face were laughter lines, he wasn’t supposed to — 

Quark swallowed with an effort. “I think the, the fruit is affecting you,” he said. “It’s — well, it shouldn’t have this strong an effect, but…” He swallowed again. “Are you sure you want to do this? Because… because if you do, then… then…” He bit his lip. “Please don’t hate me in the morning,” he said, small and miserable. “It wouldn’t be fair. Odo? If I say yes, promise you won’t hate me afterwards?”

Helpless, Odo’s fingers followed the seal of his lips, smearing the faint trace of moisture there. Quark was staring up at him, eyes wide, clearly expecting him to contribute something to the conversation. What had Quark been saying? He needed to focus. “Hmmm,” he said instead. He pulled his hand away and dipped his fingers fingers in the open container. _There_. Quark looked much better like that, his mouth smeared with the high sheen of the _della_ syrup.

“Odo,” Quark said softly. His tongue darted out and licked up the syrup on his lips; a quick, almost involuntary movement, as if it had happened without his knowledge. His pupils were enormous, his breathing ragged as he trembled in Odo’s arms. “It’s not fair to ask me when I know you’ll regret it later. It’s not fair, Odo.” He had not let go of Odo’s uniform tunic, his grip tight and desperate.

 _Ah_. Now Odo understood. Well, that was easy enough to remedy. He reached for the container again, scooping up a handful of fruit, his hand soaking in the syrup. He brought it back and offered his cupped hand to Quark. “I won’t regret it, Quark. I promise.”

The syrup was dripping down Odo’s wrist. He leaned down and licked up the stray drops, investigating the ridges of bone beneath his skin. _Hmmm_. He hadn’t tried this, either, and it felt pretty good. Maybe Dr Bashir hadn’t been entirely wrong with his recommendations.

“ _Odo,_ ” Quark said, almost whining. He buried a hand in Odo’s hair and pulled him up. “You shouldn’t have any more.” He still seemed uncertain, not quite able to surrender but clearly not willing to step away, either.

“No?” Odo brought the fruit back, and raised his other hand to Quark’s face, a finger easing into his mouth. “Open,” he said softly.

Quark’s eyes fluttered shut, all the fight going out of him at the gentle entry of Odo’s finger between his lips. He exhaled helplessly, his mouth falling open. Odo’s finger rested gently against the curve of his lower lip, fingertip touching the tip of his tongue. Not doing anything, just resting against that swell of plush, warm flesh.

After a moment, Odo pulled his finger away with a wet, obscene sound, and pressed a piece of fruit in its place. “Say yes, Quark,” Odo said gently.

Quark opened his eyes, something naked and helpless in them as he gazed up at Odo. “Yes,” he whispered.

Odo pressed the fruit gently against the swell of Quark’s lower lip, nudging his mouth open, his own mouth dry with anticipation.

The first red berry slid into Quark’s mouth. He bit down.

“Good,” Odo murmured, and brought another to his lips, the plump red fruit obscene where he pressed it in gently. “Here we are. One more.”

Quark accepted it without complaint. The color was high on his cheeks and along the ridges of his ears, his lips plumping up as Odo stroked them and fed him yet another piece of fruit. When he ran out of fruit he brought the palm of his hand to Quark’s mouth instead. “Lick,” he said unsteadily. “Lick my hand clean.”

Wordlessly, Quark complied. He opened his eyes part way through and looked up at Odo as he wrapped his long, agile tongue around Odo’s fingers one at a time, giving a sharp tug that seemed to run all the way down to the fullness between Odo’s legs. To his _cock_ , Odo thought, the word finally coming back to him, and his mouth fell open at the sudden thought of what Quark’s tongue would feel like wrapped around that part of his anatomy. Was that something that people did? Could he ask for that?

He had two fingers in Quark’s mouth now, and Quark was sucking on them messily, spit and syrup dripping down his chin.

Why, _why_ did that image appeal so much? Why did the sight of Quark sucking on his fingers make his cock ache and throb? His teeth were sharp prickles of pain where the points touched the sensitive skin of the finger pads and Odo shivered at the thought of those sharp prickles against what he was sure was the even more sensitive skin of his cock. Could he ask for that? Could he ask to have Quark put his mouth on him? Quark seemed happy enough to suck on his fingers and his face was a mess because of it, lips swollen and flushed.

He pulled his hand away with an effort, his breath stuttering when Quark leaned into his hand as if to chase the taste. “Wait,” he said instead. His hands went to the fastenings of Quark’s jacket, fingers sticky and slippery as he tried to figure out how to get it undone.

“I can do it,” Quark murmured, pushing his hands away. His flush was down his neck and up into the crown of his head, as if he was — what? Embarrassed? Shy?

Odo leaned in and followed the curve of his ear gently, sucking on the meatiest part of the lobe as Quark’s hands stuttered and fumbled the fastening, opening up his jacket and his shirt in rapid succession.

“There,” he said, exultant, and tipped his head so that Odo was sucking on his lower lip instead.

Odo could figure out the rest of Quark’s clothes easily enough once the fastenings had been undone. The jacket slid off and the shirt followed quickly, the undershirt a soft silken sheath between his body and Quark’s.

“Now you,” Quark gasped and pulled away. He reached up and undid the top clasp of Odo’s uniform tunic, tipping his head up to lick at the hollow of his throat.

“ _Hrrrrrmmm._ ” It was an involuntary sound, deep from Odo’s chest. His fingers stilled in their quest to undo the rest of the fastenings and so Quark has to do that instead, his long tongue flickering against that exposed bit of flesh repeatedly as he unfastened Odo’s tunic and then — daringly, a challenge in his eyes — put his hands on the trouser fastening as well.

“Yes?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Odo gasped. His cock was almost painful against the unforgiving fabric of his pants and he wanted the damned things off him as soon as possible. His grip on Quark tightened in anticipation.

“Odo,” Quark whined, shoving at him, “you’re holding on too tight.”

Chagrined, Odo loosened his hold and let Quark wriggle free, peeling off the remnants of their clothing and discarding it to one side. Their boots followed suit, Quark’s strange silk-like undergarment following, and then — finally — Quark was against him, warm and wriggling, his skin prickling into goosebumps despite the humid stuffiness of the surroundings.

“Yes?” Odo asked, sliding his hands down the lovely curve of Quark’s rump, following the trail of goosebumps until he couldn’t reach any lower. He couldn’t quite work out what he was supposed to do next but having Quark as a warm weight against him felt lovely. His cock pressed against Quark’s belly, leaving a wet smear between them.

Quark shivered at that and rubbed up against him with his whole body. “Yes,” he murmured. His own hands were busy stroking across some odd points on Odo’s body, urging his head down. Odo dipped his head obligingly and was astonished when Quark licked that long, hot tongue along the edge of one earlobe.

“Uh, that won’t have the same effect on me,” Odo warned. He had both hands on Quark’s ass, kneading the muscular cheeks, running his fingers along the inviting curve. “Did you forget I’m not —   _ngyah_!” His breath gasped out of him abruptly, his cock jerking against Quark’s belly. “Do that again!”

“I thought it doesn’t have the same effect on you?” Quark teased, but he followed that up by changing to Odo’s other ear and giving that one a similarly careful nip with his fangs. Odo’s cock gave another jerk against Quark’s belly. “Good?” Quark teased again, a hand buried in Odo’s hair.

Odo’s eyes were screwed shut. “Good,” he managed. “I, I didn’t realize this was a sensitive area for me.”

Quark hummed noncommittally.

Odo opened his eyes at that, suspicious. “What?”

“Nothing.” Quark grinned up at him. “Did you have any plans for this?” He wriggled in Odo’s arms.

For a moment, Odo couldn’t figure out what he meant. Then — 

“Oh,” he said weakly. “You mean...” Was it even possible? He wanted Quark so desperately, but doing this, having him warm and naked against Odo’s skin, was already lovely. Did they need to do anything else? _Could_ they, even? He glanced down, dubiously, at his cock. It seemed awfully… large. “Do you think it will fit?” he asked wistfully.

Quark flushed again, shivering in his arms. “I think we should find out,” he said hoarsely.

The ‘finding out’ seemed to involve assembling their discarded clothes into a makeshift pallet on the storeroom floor. Quark made a face at the sight of his jacket spread on the ground but glanced across at Odo and finally shrugged, wriggling down to lie on his back against the fabric. Odo didn’t move for a moment, fascinated by the sight of a naked Quark on his back, his legs spread and his cock flushed against his belly.

Quark reached down and stroked his cock carefully, watching Odo watch him. Watching Odo _want_ him, because wasn’t that what Odo was doing? Wasn’t he watching Quark touch himself, his own belly tightening with delicious anticipation because he knew that he’d been promised something even more lovely?

“What do I need to do?” he asked. His gaze was fixed on where Quark’s cock was a ruddy curve against his belly, dripping a viscous liquid so liberally that his thighs were wet with it. The clothes below him, Odo thought, apropos of nothing, would be absolutely ruined.

Quark’s breath was coming in short gasps as he worked a hand over himself. “You — you can use that — and — and the _syrup_ ,” Quark gasped. He spread his legs invitingly.

Odo didn’t need to be told twice. He scooped up another handful of syrup from the container and smeared it liberally over his cock and between Quark’s thighs. He wasn’t sure of his aim precisely, but Quark helped guide his hand to the right place. His forefinger sank in to Quark’s body with barely any resistance, the syrup slick and slippery as he moved his hand gently. Above him, Quark made a soft sound and bore down against him.

“More,” Quark said, his hips twisting. He had a hand around his cock and was gripping it tightly about the head. “Put another one in. Ah, open me up for you, Odo.”

The second finger was a bit more difficult and Odo had to work carefully to get the muscle to relax for him, teasing it open with soft, inquisitive touches. The spongy flesh gave way under gentle pressure eventually and Odo fit both fingertips in. He had his eyes fixed on Quark’s face, watching the way Quark’s lips parted as Odo’s fingers slid in slowly. “How does that feel?” he asked, gently moving his fingers in and out.

Quark’s mouth was hanging open, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Good,” he gasped, his legs spreading wider. “You can —  you can open your fingers a little, twist them so that —   _yes_ , just like that. A little faster.”

“All right,” Odo said, dry-mouthed. He couldn’t look away from the sight of his fingers breaching Quark’s body, the skin around his knuckles stretched to a delicate pale peach. He twisted his hand a little so he could rub at the flesh between Quark’s hole and his cock as he wriggled his fingers. The flesh around them rippled as Quark bore down, his eyes taking on a glazed look. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” Quark said. He licked his lips. “That’s good, Odo. I can — I can probably take you now.”

Odo felt his cock jump at the words but hesitated, a little doubtful. Two of his fingers didn’t seem anywhere near the thickness of his cock, but… He shook his head. It was Quark’s body and he knew it best. If Quark thought he was ready, then he was ready. He tugged his fingers away and stared, entranced, at the way the soft flesh fluttered around empty air for a moment, flexing open and closed as Quark shifted. Odo’s cock throbbed at the sight of it, his hands trembling. He couldn’t believe they were actually going to do this.

He shuffled back so he had Quark’s legs on either side of him, sliding his hands beneath Quark’s hips and angling him so that he could press the head of his cock against the opening to Quark’s body. It still seemed impossibly small to him, for all that it had taken his fingers, and he glanced helplessly between where his hand was splayed against Quark’s hip and where his cock was resting against that sweet little hole. Even three fingers wouldn’t have opened him up enough. He hesitated, frozen with indecision. Could it be enough? His body was telling him it had to be, he couldn't wait anymore, he needed to be inside Quark _now._  

“Odo,” Quark gasped. He raised his legs slightly, letting go of his cock to grab them both at the knees and raise them up so he was on display. So that he was defenseless and utterly open for Odo’s cock. “Odo, _please._ ”

There was no waiting after that, no hesitation.

Quark’s hole was smeared with syrup, glossy and swollen and _open,_ and it welcomed Odo’s cock as if it had been born for it. As if _Quark_ had been borne for it, born to take Odo’s cock up into his body. It was slow going, the friction and tightness exquisite, and Odo had to pause repeatedly as he inched his way in.

“You’re so tight,” he marveled. He stroked a hand along Quark’s flank. “So lovely and tight around me.” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t tried this before. _Why_ hadn’t he tried this before? It seemed so obvious that this was what this body had been made for, with its ridiculous creaky knees and strange internal mechanics, it all made sense now. He didn’t feel strange or ungainly or malformed when he did this; he didn’t feel like his body was his enemy. Every nerve ending felt good — even the ones which were yelling at him that his right knee was on bare metal and really, that was deeply unpleasant — and he hadn’t felt this _right_ since, well — 

Quark was making little helpless sounds beneath him, gasping into his shoulder. He felt amazing, sweet and lovely and _hot_ , clenching around Odo in rhythmic pulses.

 _— since the Link_ , Odo thought, astonished. How could something so _unlike_ the Link feel so _like_ it? Doing this with Quark was nothing like the Link, which had required him to lower all of his barriers, which had demanded that he _trust —_

“Odo,” Quark whispered.

Odo rocked forward experimentally, gritting his teeth at the feeling of Quark shivering around him. “Is this all right,” Odo asked, and he couldn’t recognize his own voice. It was low and hoarse and _desperate_ , ragged with desire. “Quark, please, you have to tell me,” and his hips rocked forward again, just a tiny amount, but enough to make Quark whine helplessly against him.

“Wait,” Quark said, high and breathy, as if all of the air was being pushed from his lungs. “Wait, Odo, it’s a lot, _wait_.” His eyes were scrunched tight, his fingernails digging into Odo’s skin in little crescents of delicious pain.

Odo stuttered to a halt, reining himself back with the last remnants of his self-control. He was braced on his elbows, forearms bracketing Quark’s head. He realized that the fabric had bunched up beneath them as they’d worked to make their joining happen, leaving the back of Quark’s head resting against bare metal. _He must be cold_ , Odo thought, and slid a hand beneath him to cushion the exposed skin with his own. “Is it OK?” he murmured. Quark’s eyes were still scrunched tight, his breathing high and labored.

 _What if it isn’t?_ He worried. He’d been so wrapped up in how good it had felt for him, what if he hadn’t noticed that it hadn’t been good for Quark? What if he did not, in fact, fit?

He glanced back down cautiously. Quark’s cock was still rigid against his belly and Quark was making abortive little movements with his hips now, working himself down further on Odo’s cock, his face creased in concentration.

“Quark,” he murmured, feeling something warm in his chest. He leaned down to press his lips against Quark’s half-open mouth.

“Mmmmm,” Quark murmured in response, shivering a little. “OK. You can try again now, gently.”

Gently, he could do. He wanted this to feel good for Quark, for Quark to continue making those delicious little gasps and moans and clutch at him desperately. He rocked forward with tiny, infinitesimal thrusts, inching his way in and distracting Quark from it by stroking the edge of his flushed ears, sucking bruising kisses into the sensitive cartilage. Quark was whimpering with every movement, his body arching up into Odo’s thrusts until, finally, Odo was all the way inside him.

He stopped for a moment, luxuriating in the feeling of it. Quark was pliant and warm beneath him, cushioned as he was in Odo’s arms, and the feeling of Quark’s muscles rippling around his cock made Odo shiver in the most delicious way. It felt so _good_ . His skin tingled pleasantly, whether from Quark or from the syrup, he couldn’t tell, and the knot in his stomach was a deliciously heavy weight, clenching tighter as he carefully withdrew and slid back home in one smooth slide, watching Quark’s mouth fall open. It felt indescribably good and so he did it again and again, the slip-slide of his cock making wet, obscene sounds as he bottomed out in Quark’s slick depths. “You feel so good,” he said wonderingly, and he reached down to cup Quark’s lovely cock, stroking the glossy, spongy head. “You feel so, _oh_.” He could do this _forever_ , spend the rest of his life with his entire focus narrowed down to where his body joined Quark’s, where he felt the sweet drag and pull of those delicate tissues over the sensitive skin of his cock.

Quark made a soft noise in response, shifting up into Odo’s touch.

“Good?” he asked, brushing his nose against Quark’s. “Quark, look at me. Tell me.” It seemed vital suddenly, that he have confirmation that Quark was enjoying this as much as he was.

Quark opened his eyes with an effort. They were glazed, unfocused, and he stared up at Odo blankly, licking his swollen lips. “Odo,” he whispered, “Blessed Exchequer, Odo, I can feel you in me, all the way up to my throat.”

Odo stared down at him, trembling, astonished. The idea of it — of possessing Quark so completely — shook him down to his core. Having Quark say that. Having Quark say that to _him_ , pleasure in his voice, clenching around Odo’s cock, working his hips down so he could take him that little bit deeper.

It was too much. He grit his teeth and tried to fight against the sudden surge of _want_ in his belly but it was too late, it had been too late the moment Quark looked up at him with desire-glazed eyes.

His orgasm took him by surprise, bewildering and exhausting and exquisite, each pulse wrung out of him in waves that were so intense they were almost painful. His entire consciousness seemed focused on his cock, on the way Quark was clenching around him, on how warm and soft and wet Quark felt around him, on how Quark was staring up at him, his mouth parted, his face so terribly _open_ , as if he was seeing something secret, something special. “Quark,” he gasped, and he clutched Quark’s head to him, pressing his mouth to whatever bits of him he could reach, his forehead, his cheeks. He licked urgently into Quark’s mouth, swallowing Quark’s own gasps and something that sounded suspiciously like his name, feeling Quark clench and jerk against him, something hot and wet spattering between them.

Awareness was blissfully absent for a few perfect moments. Then, “Odo,” Quark muttered, “you’re squishing me.” It sounded like Quark’s face was smushed against Odo’s chest.

Odo took a deep breath and let it out slowly, levering himself back up on suspiciously wobbly arms. He still felt tingly all over, and his head felt the same kind of tired that had previously indicated that he needed to sleep, or to regenerate. He pulled away gently, soothing Quark’s almost-sigh with an absent-minded kiss. He couldn’t help looking down at the point where they were still joined; where his cock was still in Quark, he reminded himself, feeling the flush all the way up to his ears. Quark’s flesh was swollen and moist, clinging wetly to Odo’s cock as he withdrew carefully. Thick, milky liquid oozed out around Odo’s still-stiff cock and he could not help the shiver at the sight. Was that from Quark’s body, or — and his mouth went dry at the thought — from his own? Had he left a part of himself behind _in_ Quark?

Helpless, he dropped his head and pressed his mouth against that soft, inviting flesh, lapping up the spilled liquid urgently. It had traces of the sweet syrup and of that faint saltiness he’d tasted on Quark earlier, but there was equally an astringent taste on his tongue that felt both strange and familiar in equal measure. _It’s us,_ he thought. _It’s both of us, mingled together._

Above him, Quark hissed gently and buried a hand in Odo’s hair. “Not that it doesn’t feel nice,” he said, and there was something familiar in the way his voice tilted at that, as if readying for a feint, “but humanoids normally need a little bit longer in between rounds.” He paused, considered. “Well, Ferengi do, anyway. I don’t know about whatever it is the Founders modeled you on.”

Odo sighed against Quark’s thigh. “I suspect I’m pretty average in that respect, Quark.” His cock was thankfully no longer full, finally settling down between his thighs in its customary position. He still thought it looked ridiculous and ill-proportioned. It didn’t have the frills of Bajoran organs (he’d checked) nor the flares of Cardassians (he’d checked that too). It was much like the rest of him, albeit currently soft and wrinkled against his thigh.

That said, it didn’t look that much different from Quark’s own equipment, so he was probably lucky that the one person he’d chosen to do this with was compatible. And thankfully Quark had known what to do, even with Odo’s complex uniform fastenings — 

Wait.

“Quark,” he said after a long moment, scooting up Quark’s body so he could look him in the eye. “My uniform. How _did_ you know how to undo the fastenings?”

Quark’s eyes were wide. “You’re asking me that _now?”_ It was almost a whine. “Odo, I’m post-coital! You just rammed something the size of my arm in my body, surely you can’t expect me to —   _ow_ ,” he glared. “ _Don’t_ tweak my ears!”

“Then don’t lie to me,” Odo countered, but he let go, soothing the minor sting with his fingertips. Quark’s lashes fluttered shut at the caress. “Quark,” he said patiently. “I’m still waiting. How did you know how to undo my uniform fastenings — and what, exactly did you bring with you back from Risa?”

Quark opened his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “I told you. There’s no profit to smuggling anything into Risa, everything is legal there.”

“Into Risa. I’m asking what you took _out_ of Risa, Quark.”

Quark wet his lips and trailed a finger up Odo’s thigh suggestively. “Are you sure that you don’t want to go for round two?”

_“Quark.”_

Quark shivered at that, for some reason, his gaze becoming abstracted. “Er, right. Um… OK, look. It’s not illegal.”

Ah, there it was. “But?”

Quark squirmed. “Well. It’s just a bit… regulated.”

“Regulated,” Odo repeated, his brow furrowing. _Regulated?_ What did that mean? What did Risa export that would be subject to — oh.

“The _della_ fruit,” he said, feeling like the quadrant’s biggest idiot. “I thought you’d dissolved something in the preservative syrup.”

Quark squirmed some more. It really did feel rather nice when he did that directly against Odo’s thigh. “Well,” Quark said in his best _I’m doing this for your benefit, not mine,_ voice, “I mean, I didn’t. Everything on my manifest was completely fairly disclosed.”

It had been, at that. Odo could recite the contents, short as they were. _100kg, della fruit in preservative syrup_. Of course, no mention had been made of what the syrup had consisted of. Odo had foolishly assumed Quark had hidden something _in_ the syrup; it hadn’t occurred to him that it had been the syrup itself that was the contraband. _Della_ spirits, concentrated to an aphrodisiac of such strength it was one of the few non-lethal things the Risans bothered to regulate.

Helplessly, Odo started to laugh, his face dropping to rest against Quark’s shoulder. “The _syrup!_ ” He’d licked it, he’d fed it to Quark — he’d put it _inside_ Quark, used it as lubrication in a way guaranteed to promote vasodilation in _both_ of them, getting more of it into their bloodstreams — and it had been the _syrup_ all along.

Quark craned his neck to look down at him. “Odo?” He asked, and he suddenly sounded nervous. “Odo, why are you laughing?” His hand hovered over Odo’s shoulder. “Um… Odo?”

Shaking his head, Odo quietened his laughter. There was a smear of something sweet against Quark’s shoulder - doubtless transfer from where Odo had clutched at him with syrup-covered hands - and he pressed his mouth against Quark’s chest. The _syrup_. Was that why everything had felt the way it had? He felt utterly undone, boneless with pleasure as he sighed against Quark’s chest, his arms tightening around him. He didn’t understand the gathering tightness in his chest at the thought of the syrup being responsible for how he currently felt. Or — and he suddenly felt cold all over — how Quark felt.

What if Quark had only done this because of the syrup? What if, now that it had run its course, he didn’t want to do this anymore? He stiffened.

This seemed to make Quark even more alarmed. “Odo? Um…” His hand carded hesitantly through Odo’s hair, scratching gently behind his ears.

Grooming him, Odo realized, and he shivered. If there was one thing he knew about Ferengi, it was familial links. Grooming was reserved for family… or for lovers.

It hadn’t been the syrup, then.

He didn’t know how he felt about _that_ , either. Oh, this was hopeless. He knew he’d enjoyed himself, and had certainly enjoyed _Quark_ enjoying himself. He was glad he’d worked out at least one thing his new body was good for, and that everything had seemed to go well. He would certainly like to do it again, maybe quite soon.

But everything else was hopelessly confused. Was it just this physical act that appealed to him? He didn’t think that it would have worked nearly as well if he’d done this with a random stranger, somehow. He tried to picture himself doing this with someone else, and felt nothing. Quark, then. Well, all right. But just this? He didn’t think that was all there was to it, somehow, given everything. Given their past.

Given what the idea of mingling with Quark — the idea of _Linking_ with Quark — had done to him.

Quark’s fingers felt awfully nice in his hair, stroking gently. He’d known what to do, Odo remembered. At each point, Quark had known what needed to be done, and had talked him through it. He must have learned it from other lovers in the past.

Something in him clenched at the thought.

He raised his head, squinting up at Quark. “Quark,” he said, his voice low. “How _did_ you know how to undo my uniform tunic?” Not _his_ uniform tunic, of course. _A_ uniform tunic. Worn by every deputy under his command, regardless of gender. How many of them had there been during his time on the station? How many opportunities — 

Quark’s mouth formed a helpless O of surrender. “There’s no law against it,” he squeaked. He had paled rapidly under Odo’s glare. “I checked! But, uh, I’ll delete the program, I mean, now that we’ve — I don’t need it, right?” He looked at Odo hopefully. “Odo? I don’t need it anymore, right?”

Odo blinked. _The program_. The _holodeck_. No law — well, it was skirting right up to it, wasn’t it? There _was_ a law against using images of people without their consent, but only where it applied to commercial holo-programs. If you commissioned your own work and didn’t attempt to sell it, you could do whatever you liked.

“Odo?”

Odo gathered him up carefully, turning them so that Quark was pillowed against his chest. The floor was cold and somewhat uncomfortable against his back but it didn’t seem to matter all that much. The smell of the syrup was thick and cloying in the air, Quark was a warm, heavy weight on his chest and legs, his head tucked against Odo’s shoulder.

“Odo?” It sounded plaintive.

Odo reached up and traced the line of Quark’s ear. His fingers trailed back to scratch gently behind it, feeling Quark shiver in his arms. From this vantage point all he could see was the top of Quark’s head and the curve of his spine. Odo’s fingers twitched involuntarily at the sight of Quark's arched shoulder blades, like birds in flight. “No,” he found himself murmuring. “You don’t need it anymore.” He slid his hand down to cup Quark’s rump, not quite tickling, not quite grasping. 

He could feel Quark relaxing at that, going lax and pliant in his arms.

Sleep, first. And then, later…

He stroked his thumb across the plush fullness of one cheek, his fingers teasing at the gentle cleft between them, thinking about _later_ and what they could do once they’d rested _._

After all, they’d opened one of the containers already. It would be a shame to let all of that syrup go to waste.

*

fin


End file.
